


A Chance to Make Things Right

by Rose_2925



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: 1920's, A little angst, Alternate Universe, Drama & Romance, F/M, Feelings, Fix-It, Matthew Crawley fan club, Romance, Some Canon, World War One, all the feelings, what if
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-02-08 03:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12856011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_2925/pseuds/Rose_2925
Summary: "Mary scanned the compartments as she walked along First Class, finding most of them occupied. She was starting to worry she would have to share her compartment. Ahah! Finally she spotted an empty compartment and stepped inside, putting her hand luggage on the shelf above the seat.She turned around and gasped, briefly startled to realize she was not alone like she thought: there was a soldier slumped in the seat opposite hers, his cap slung over his eyes. Her entrance had clearly woken him, for he stretched his legs and took his cap off. Mary gasped again, for an altogether different reason. She knew this solider."Matthew?" She said tentatively, not daring to believe her eyes. Matthews eyes--goodness had they always been so blue?--widened in shock, no doubt mirroring her own. He smiled; oh, how she had missed that smile."Or--How I think season 2 should've gone ;) (including original characters, way less sister-sabotage, more war details and fewer things getting in the way of my favourite couple)





	1. Chapter 1

Lavinia

She checked her appearance once more in the store front before crossing the street to the club. It was a gentlemans club, she knew that, but she also knew it was likely to be full of soldiers and for once in her life curiosity won out over propriety. Besides, she had paperwork for her father! 

Approaching the doorman, she tried her best to look like she knew exactly what she was doing "Good afternoon sir, I have some important paperwork here for my father Reginald Swire."  
The door man scrutinized her for a moment, decided she was unlikely to start trouble and, with a slight nod of the head, opened the door. 

Though modern times had brought electricity to London, the Winchester Arms held fast to tradition, and apart from the small fogged up windows, the interior was lit only by wall tapers and and a chandelier at least a century old. Visibility was also hindered by the great quantity of cigar smoke that hung in the air. Determined not to look like a silly girl, Lavinia straightened her shoulders and pushed forward, trying to find her father. Therefor she had to get a good look at all the soldiers, he was surely among them!

Her eyes scanned the room, picking out quite a few handsome soldiers before she spotted her father. Sitting in the back corner by the fire he was talking to an officer..and to his right sat the most attractive man Lavinia had laid eyes on, with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. 

It was while Lavinia was rather distracted that the private sitting at the table next to her decided to get up for another pint. As he slowly pushed out his chair, Lavinia tripped over the leg, and would have very well gone sprawling if not for the strong arm around her waist. Her fathers papers now littering the ground, Lavinia felt her face go Crimson. She turned to face her would-be rescuer, who she could see had dark hair, a sprinkling of freckles across his flushed cheeks--his green eyes had an expression of quiet humour. 

He straightened and released her waist, Lavinia noted he was quite tall. 

"I'm so verra sorry to have gotten in your way miss" he said, the left side of his mouth lifted slightly, making her think he was perhaps both sorry and amused. Scottish? She wondered, or perhaps welsh.. Trying to compose herself, she responded  
"No please, don't trouble yourself. I should have been paying more attention to where I was walking"

Her father, turning to order another drink had recognized her, and walked towards them. "Lavinia? Whatever are you doing here?" Lavinia felt herself blushing again and cursed her fair complexion.  
"Daddy! I only came to bring you your papers, you left them on the hall table and I thought they might've been important."

The soldier bent to collect the papers and handed them to her father. He raised an eyebrow "And you are?" 

"Corporal Alexander MacMurray, part of the Royal Scottish Medical Dispatchment, Sir, Miss."

Reggie smiled at his daughter, he knew she was often in search of diversion. "Pleasure to meet you Mr.MacMurray. I am Reggie Swire and this is my daughter, Lavinia. Lavinia dear, these papers were indeed important, but you needn't have brought them down here yourself, Andrews could have delivered them." He smiled to himself, as shy as his daughter was, he knew she must have come to catch a glimpse of the soldiers. 

It was then Alex saw his chance. "Mr.Swire, sir, I'm afraid in my haste to rise from my seat I nearly tripped your lovely daughter." He quickly stole another glance at Lavinia. "Might I redeem myself by escorting her home safely?" He tried to look as gentlemanly as possible, while his arm still tingled slightly where he had wrapped it round her tiny waist. He'd be surrounded by soldiers at the front, was currently dining with his unit, when she walked in -he'd never seen a lass half so fine in all of Edinburgh. She was petite and fair, her hair not a blazing red like that of his cousins, but a softer rose-gold. He tore his gaze away, waiting to see if her father thought him too bold. 

Lavinia too, waited for her fathers answer. Surely they lived quite near, there was no harm. She was unused to this feeling, wanting to spend time with a man. Oh sure, she'd had her season like all of her friends; had danced with potential suitors, one or two with whom she took tea. But by and large she found them too intimidating, too loud, too patronizing. Alexander MacMurray did not seem like the other men she knew..and she was drawn to him. 

As her father watched the two alternately looking at him and at each other he chuckled. They didn't live too far away and Lavinia seemed to be inclined to take him up on his offer, he trusted his daughters instincts. "Well it is highly unusual, but we are living in strange times. You may escort my daughter home, but Lavinia I expect you to telephone my secretary the moment you get in." Lavinia nodded her head, smiling. "Mr.MacMurray, if you'd be so kind as to point out your superior officer?"

After speaking with the Doctor, Reggie watched the two leave the club, shook his head, smiling. He returned to his table, keen to talk to the fellow on his left, he could have sworn him talking about the House of Parliament, perhaps the fellow knew law. 

 

~~~

 

Matthew

It was remarkable, Matthew thought as he sat in the dimly lit pub, the brains ability to compartmentalize. For the last year, as he'd trained and fought and dodged shells, his mind was clear and focused-survive. In his resting moments and now at the start his first week-long leave, his mind was a jumble. His bruises and scratches and even where a bullet had grazed his arm--all had healed, yet when he thought about how tomorrow morning he would be on a train to York and then home to Crawley house--and its proximity to Mary. 

His heartbreak still felt like a fresh wound.  
The crushing disappointment he'd felt when he'd broken off their engagement had pushed him to get away, everything in the village had reminded him of her, of the future he'd envisioned. He'd wound up in Manchester, drowning his sorrows with his old university friends, and eventually signing up with a Manchester battalion. 

Now, close to a year after he'd left for France, it felt like it happened both yesterday and in another lifetime. Matthew was drawn briefly from thoughts by the sight of a pretty, fair girl who had just entered. He had occasionally wished he had a sweetheart to write to, as many of his men did. Some promise of happiness, someone to reassure him there was light at the end of the tunnel. After all he'd done in the past year...he shuddered and closed his eyes. He had no right to try and entangle some innocent woman into his troubles. He rolled his shoulders and took another drink, trying to focus on the fact that he'd be seeing his mother, sleeping in his bed instead of a hard cot, smelling fresh air and eating real food. He smiled faintly, for he really was looking forward to the feast that mother would have Mrs.Bird preparing. 

The man next to him caught his attention,  
"Hello sir" he said,"Did I hear you say you're a lawyer?"  
Ah work, that was sure to divert him until he could retire to his room.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keeping the ball rolling :) Now we'll get to Mary

Mary

She paused for a moment outside the post office. Once again she had gone for a walk and discreetly checked for any letters coming to her father from France. She knew that Matthew had written to her father once or twice, but to Mary's irritation, he refused to shared the contents.   
Mary started to walk slowly back home, back to the stifling quiet and order, while inside her a storm brewed. Nearly a year now, she thought, since Isobel had told them he'd enlisted in Manchester. While her father had seemed somewhat affronted he wouldn't go with a York regiment, Mary could only receive the news with silent horror. This was all her fault. She should have listened to her grandmother and her mother and oh God what if he never came back? What if she'd never get to tell him how sorry she was, for not being honest with him, as he'd always been with her? Along with the letter was a photo, one that Isobel had Matthew sit for..in case. Mary shuddered at the memory. That night she'd gone down to his study, to look at it. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she held the picture, though it was not in colour she could still picture the bright blue of his eyes. As she turned it in her hand she noticed it was thicker than it ought to be. Running her finger along the side, she found a second proof copy, possibly sent in error...   
She carefully pulled it apart, bringing it back up to her room and placing it in her bedside table. 

It wasn't long after that the nightmares started. They weren't everyday, and they varied, but the main theme was the same. Matthew, wounded, dying on a battle field in France, crying out for help. Never having the chance to make things right between them. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. He loved cycling home from the train station, cycling around the village...she turned her head and froze--there he was walking to Crawley house.

She rubbed her eyes and looked again, it certainly looked like him, blonde hair, brisk stride. She was about to cross the street when an approaching car honked its horn at her. It pulled up and stopped in front of her, and her grandmother poked her head out of the window. "Mary dear!" You should be more careful." She pursed her lips, her usually composed granddaughter looked as if she'd seen a ghost. "Why don't you hop in and come to the dower house for tea? Cook's made a delicious pound cake!" 

The look on Violets face brooked no opposition and Mary smiled slightly, before opening the door and climbing in the back. She'd imagined him, she told herself. He was in France, not coming back from work in Ripon. Still unsettled, she peered out the window as they drove on, but he was nowhere to be seen. Of course not. 

 

Matthew 

Matthew sat on the lawn, obscured, he hoped, by the front gate. Though it hadn't been particularly hard to jump over the waist-high gate, his heart pounded. He suspected that had more to do with the fact that he'd just seen Mary. Mary, looking as lovely as ever, in her dark red coat. Matthew had panicked, he thought she'd recognized him and started to cross the road-but then the car had mercifully blocked him from view. He had no idea what to say to her! So he took the rather cowardly way out and hid behind the gate. Matthew stayed on the ground for a moment, trying to calm his racing pulse and hoping no one had seen his rather silly imitation of steeplechase. 

He got up slowly, peered over the gate-the coast was clear. He brushed off the grass from his trousers, glad for once that his uniform was green, picked up his case and walked to the front door. Mosley greeted him at the door with a smile,"Welcome home sir." He smiled back and let the butler take off his greatcoat, which had started to feel rather warm, "Good to see you again Mosley."

He heard his mothers approaching footsteps "Matthew? Is that you?" As she came into the hall she quickened her pace and pulled him into an embrace. Though he had been taller than her for some years now, his mothers hugs still made him feel like a boy. She squeezed him tightly then drew back "let me have a look at you" she said thickly, running a hand along a shallow cut on his cheek.   
He smiled at her warmly, feeling his throat tighten slightly. She seemed to be satisfied. "You're looking well my dear." His expression dimmed, thinking of all the men who'd lost limbs..been horribly disfigured.. 

Isobel had seen the look on soldiers faces before, and didn't press the matter. I hope you're keeping your feet dry, I've knit some more socks to send back with you. Dr.Clarkson's told me terrible things about what they're calling "Trench foot." Matthew grimaced, for he had indeed heard all about what happened when men spent too much time in wet conditions.   
"Yes, mother. I'm lucky my regiment is in somewhat higher ground for the moment. They are trying to improve conditions though." She squeezed his hand. "Good, good. Now come in! You must be hungry. Mosley please--"  
"I'll have tea brought up right away m'am" Mosley said smoothly, having anticipated as such. Matthew followed his mother into the sitting room and took a seat in his favourite spot, a sapphire blue wing chair. It was bizarre, to be sitting here with his mother in Crawley house. Something he'd done a hundred times, and yet it felt like a different life, when he was a different person. Shaking off the strange feeling he tried to focus on his mother and the fact that he was lucky enough to still be here, while so many weren't. 

"So, he said, thinking of something neutral to talk about, "what's new in the village? How's your work at the hospital?"

Later that night the strange feeling returned, as he dismissed Mosley and climbed into bed. Had it always been this soft? It was nice to wash and be in his old rooms again. He had noticed when he was washing he had slightly grazed his hand on the gaze when he jumped. "God, he thought, I'm a grown man-I shouldn't be hiding from girls like a boy". But it wasn't just any girl, it was Mary, he knew. He sighed, thinking again of how different things might've been if she'd have said yes. Perhaps tomorrow he might pluck up the courage to go and see her. He turned off the lights and closed his eyes. 

 

~


	3. Tea

Mary

Mary stared at the gate of Crawley house, willing herself to open it. Don't be ridiculous, she thought, you'll simply have to ask her, or continue on with your delusion. 

The same week she had thought she saw Matthew at this very spot, she could have swore she caught a glimpse of him in the churchyard, sitting on a bench in the park. She had never hallucinated him at home so, shaken, she did not leave Downton for a week. Now, several weeks later, Sybil had received more bad news about men she knew killed in action, Papa's frown depended as he read the papers and Mary felt she really would go mad if she didn't hear anything of Matthew. So here she was at Crawley house alone, having told Mama she was not feeling up to driving into Ripon. 

She gathered her resolve and opened the gate, walking quickly to the front door and knocking. A surprised Mosely answered, and Mary could see him wondering if he had forgotten her visit.  
Mary put on the best poised, charming smile she could "Hello Mosley, is Mrs. Crawley in? I was just thinking how long it had been since we'd seen her, what with her being under the weather and I thought I would check in." 

Mosley looked confused, but knew better than to voice his questions. "She is in the sitting room milady, if you'll just follow me."  
He ushered her in and she followed him to the sitting room, "Lady Mary Crawley m'am."

Isobel looked up from her paper, startled. It was still early in the day and she hadn't thought she was expecting anyone--least of all Mary. She made to get up but was halted by her unexpected visitor. 

"Oh please don't get up on my account, Mary said kindly, "I was just in the village and thought I'd stop by and see how you were recovering from your cold. We've missed you at the big house these past couple of weeks."

Isobel, of course, had not been ill at all. Matthew had been insistent on her keeping his visit a secret, and she couldn't very well keep the family away without a reason. Still, she rather doubted they had felt her absence so keenly. She suspected Mary was here for an entirely different reason and was happy to be distracted from her thoughts, which were as usual with her son.  
"Well that was very kind of you Mary, I assure you I am perfectly recovered now. Did you all miss me or is Cousin Violet just in need of someone to spar with?" She asked good-humouredly. Mary smiled and ducked her head demurely, "You know Grannie. You'll come to dinner tonight then?"

Isobel supposed it had been rather lonely the last week, "I'd be delighted, thank you Mary." 

Mary smiled, "Excellent" but made no move to leave. "It was very kind of you to come in person" Isobel ventured. "I was just about to ring for tea, won't you join me?"

Mary accepted and while Isobel rang for Mosley tried to think of a conversational way they might breach the topic of Matthew. Isobel told her to have a seat and Mary looked to the settee, her usual choice, before opting to sit in the wing-chair instead. Isobel felt one corner of her mouth quirk up, of course she had chosen Matthews favourite seat. They chatted pleasantly as they waited for tea and while Mosley was serving them Mary was struck by the memory of when she had first visited her cousins unannounced. She had been offered tea that time, as well.  
"Won't you stay for tea?" Isobel had kindly asked. 

"Oh no" she had said, haughtily, "you're far too busy. And besides; I wouldn't want to push in." She had ridden to Crawley house that day more than ready to hate the new heir, a middle class lawyer. What right did he have to what should have always been hers? Now, she realized sadly, she would give it all to him, along with her heart, if he would only speak to her. Her usually impassive face belied her emotions and Isobel thought she looked rather sad. "Mary?" She said gently, "is everything alright?" She had leaned forward slightly and tilted her head in question, and for a moment the patient, caring expression so resembled Matthew that Mary felt the wall she kept around her heart crack. 

"Yes of course" she said automatically, and so unenthusiastically that even she didn't believe herself. She felt the all too familiar sensation of tears, and though as a rule she did NOT cry where other people could see (except Anna, of course) she felt unable to hold them back. Her voice wobbled slightly "Well actually, no, hardly anything is alright and it's all my fault! I've been so stupid and reckless and now Matthews in a war and I'm terrified he won't come back and I'll never have a chance to apologize for ruining it all. Mary wiped at her eyes with her sleeve, "and I know he writes Papa but he never tells me anything and I feel as if I might lose my mind. She let out a laugh that sounded half way to a sob, "Come to think of it I'm not sure I haven't already, I hallucinated seeing him several times the other week in the village." She rested her head in her hands. 

Isobel's teacup was frozen midway to her saucer. Whatever she had expected with Mary's visit this certainly wasn't it. A lifetime of dealing with shocks had taught her to conceal her reactions, but still she felt her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. For sometime now she'd wondered at Mary's feelings towards her son, with her initial icy reception then her reticence to give an answer, and with the whole inheritance business.. She had said some rather unkind things about Mary that she now rather regretted. Still she could not wonder, if she felt so strongly about him, why she had not simply said "yes". She rifled in her pockets for a handkerchief and pressed it in Mary's lap. She gave her knee a gentle squeeze "Well if it's any comfort you're not losing your mind and you weren't hallucinating."

Mary looked up at her, confused. Isobel pressed on, "You see Matthew was given his first week of leave, and rather than spend it in Paris or London, he decided to come home for a few days."

"But Papa never said.."

"That's because he didn't know, no one did. Matthew was very insistent upon it. He just wanted a few days peace, that's all."

Mary smiled sadly "I suppose that's my fault as well." Though privately she knew her family likely barraging him with questions may have contributed some. She tried to smile, knowing Matthew had at least been home on leave, had some measure of happiness. "How's it been? She asked, How is he?"

"Well", Isobel started," he tells me it's an awful mess, the Generals don't seem at all prepared and they underestimated just how long this war would be, how many shells they'd need. He seems to like his regiment well enough, but I know that only makes it harder when they're killed."  
Mary's heart ached.  
"His letters are pleasant enough, he doesn't really go into detail, I imagine he wants to think about other things. From what I observed Mary, he's...he's doing his best, but he's terribly unhappy. War tends to wreak havoc on good men."  
Mary nodded, she could only imagine.  
"Mary I've been honest with you, and I hope you will be honest with me." Mary nodded again, unsure what Isobel was getting at. 

"Why exactly did you refuse Matthew?"

Mary prepared to deflect, blaming indecision, but Isobel had asked for honesty. She bit her lip, considering; after all, she'd broken Matthews heart and as good as drove him to enlist, it was unlikely Isobel had a shining opinion of her. 

Mary took a deep breath, "Do you remember the Turkish ambassadors son who stayed with us a couple years ago?"

Isobel nodded, she was unlikely to forget someone who'd died in Downton, and it had been a topic of conversation for weeks in the village. Mary braced herself and for the first time, told her story. 

After she had finished the tale, Isobel looked down at her tea, thinking she might need something stronger. She glanced around the room, where was the whisky when you needed it? 

Mary could see she was still absorbing the sordid tale, and wanted to at least defend her reasons for refusing Matthew. "So you see, I loved him too much to marry him in a lie, and I suppose it was in part my vanity that prevented me from telling him the truth, for he'd surely despise me once he knew." It was that dilemma that she had pondered all those months, not her affection for him. 

She finally met Isobel's eyes and was surprised to see not disapproval, as she had expected, but concern. "Mary, this man kissed you without permission and you asked him to stop"

"Yes but I did flirt with him" Isobel waved her off. "Then he somehow found his way to your room, and you asked him to leave?" Mary nodded, "he said I would be ruined either way."  
"But you asked him to leave? Told him you did not wish to..take things further?"  
"Yes", Mary said, "but he did not attack me, I let him do it. I did not fight, I..his attentions were not entirely unpleasant."  
"Mary, you acted as any girl might around a handsome stranger, what he did later was not what you had intended to happen, I'm sure!"  
Isobel was livid. She had known many men like this, men who thought it was their God-ordained right to touch, to take, to do whatever they liked-a woman's opinion on the matter held no weight whatsoever. "No" was something they did not like to hear and certainly didn't abide by. She had raised her son to be honourable, considerate, everything these men were not. She felt this long held resentment flare up at Mary's story, at the fact that she blamed herself for this, as so many women were taught to do. In societies eyes, the fault always lay with the woman, no matter what the circumstances.  
She could sit no longer, and stood, pulling Mary with her. She grasped her hands.  
"Mary, I want you to listen to me. What happened that night was in no way your own making. That Mr.Pamuk crossed a line, disregarded your feelings, and if he paid for it with his life than I cannot be sorry, his comeuppance was deserved. It was not, in any way, your fault!" It was Mary now, who looked stunned. Isobel shook her hands lightly "Do you understand?" Mary blinked, felt the sting of tears yet again and nodded mutely. Isobel pulled her into a hug, surprised initially she gradually softened. Her mother had rarely embraced her, and she never felt as comforted as she did now. Isobel gently rubbed her back, and when she pulled back she smiled sadly. "You did what you believed you had to do, in the circumstances. I will not judge you for that. And you must realize neither would Matthew. Now, let's see if we can't patch things up, hmm? For you love my son and I know he still loves you."

"Mosley!" She shouted "I believe we are in need of more hot tea!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew gets a letter from home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long!!( holidays & all) I hope you all had a wonderful holiday and Hopefully the next chapter will come along a little quicker ;) Thanks to those who commented and left kudos, it makes me smile and encourages me more than you know ❤️

Matthew

 

"Crawley! Post for you!"

Matthew nodded his head in thanks and went back to his quarters to read the letter from his mother. Yet again he couldn't help but notice the other lads faces as they got letters from their sweethearts. He sighed, and sat down on the rough wooden stool. The day had, mercifully, been quiet and he had helped fix the machine gun nests in the early hours of the morning, when they were sheltered by darkness and fog. He grabbed his letter opener and tore open the envelope. 

"Dear Matthew, 

I hope this letter finds you well. Everything is much the same since you were here last month, the hospital continues to struggle with the number of men it's expected to care for, we may soon need to find more ways to fundraise. I know this letter will seem rather brief, but I must tell you about a very interested afternoon I spent with Mary--

Matthew blinked and looked at the letter again in disbelief. His mother had never particularly liked Mary, especially after the way things had ended between them. He could hardly believe his eyes as he read that they had had tea together, that Mary had asked after him, had nearly begged for information and in exchange had shared information of her own with Isobel. 

\--you see dear, I feel she was finally able to shed some light on important matters, matters which I know are close to your heart. I feel it is not my place to disclose these secrets, and have enclosed a letter that Mary wrote for you. I hope it brings you peace, my darling boy,

All my love,

Mother. 

Matthew pulled a second, smaller, folded note from the envelope. Oh so now Mary wanted to talk, to explain herself? After it was far, far too late? It was likely just guilt or pity, both which made Matthew clench his fists in anger. Unfortunately his letter opener was still in his left hand, and he gasped quietly as he felt it bite into his palm. He quickly dropped it, revealing a gash that started to well with blood. It was obvious, he thought, nothing good could come of opening this letter. He shoved them both in his dresser and went back through the trenches towards to medical bay. 

If you weren't certain of the exact location of the medical area, the battling smells of blood and disinfectant and sounds of moaning or crying quickly alerted you to its place. It sounded fairly quiet today, and he ducked his head in. A young man was sitting behind a desk, reading a newspaper, his shirtsleeves rolled up and a cigarette between his fingers. He looked up at Matthews arrival. "Yes sir?" 

Matthew smiled sheepishly "I'm afraid I've been rather clumsy, and sliced my hand with my letter opener. I can just bandage it or.."  
The man smiled genially and leaned forward "let's 'ave a look at it then"  
Matthew placed his hand for the man to inspect. He tsked "your letter openers got to be sharper than your bayonet sir!" He gestured for Matthew to sit and turned around, moving several things around before turning back with a suture kit. "Best I sew it up, heals faster that way." 

Matthew remarked he seemed young for a doctor and the man admitted he'd nearly finished his final classes, when the urgent need for doctors caused him to halt his studies and volunteer his services. The two talked, as he cleaned and sewed up the cut, talked about news from home, things they missed. Matthew declared he would do anything for a decent cup of tea and the other man shared entertaining things he'd heard from men in his care. They both found it was good to laugh, to forget the death surrounding them, if only for a short while. After a particularly wicked joke that caused him to shake with laughter and pause in his suturing Alex thought, for an an Englishman--and an officer at that, this fellow didn't seem half bad. After he was done, he stuck out his hand, "Alex MacMurray"   
Matthew grinned and grasped it in his right, "Matthew Crawley" 

Over the next 6 months the two became fast friends--when Alex invited him to come with him to London on their overlapping days of leave, he gladly accepted. This trip to London Matthew didn't spend brooding, but enjoying this newfound camaraderie. The second day they were there Alex asked if it was alright if a friend of his joined them for dinner, a female friend. Though it required dining somewhere other than the Winchester, Mathew didn't mind. He teased Alex, trying to get information about this secret woman. Alex had just as poor of a poker face and blushed rather wildly, her name was Lavinia, he revealed, he'd met her just before he'd shipped off and they'd been writing back and forth ever since. 

That evening, she joined them at a restaurant in covent garden that Matthew had always liked. He rose, with Alex, when she was escorted to their table. Matthew had the strangest feeling of déjà-vu, almost as if they had met before--he smiled though, and waited to be introduced. 

"May I introduce you to Miss Lavinia Swire" Alex said rather proudly. Swire? No it couldn't be..  
Matthew pressed a light kiss to the back of her gloved hand "Pleasure to meet you."  
Alex continued with the introductions, "Lavinia, this is my good friend Matthew Crawley." Lavinia smiled genially, while unknowingly sharing Matthews sense of déjà vu. Matthew took his seat as Alex pulled out Lavinia's chair. He couldn't help but find out if his suspicion was right. "Miss Swire? I hope you don't find this strange, but is your father by any chance Reggie Swire?"

Lavinia's eyes widened in surprise "Yes, yes he is--do you know him?"  
Matthew smiled, pieces falling into place, "I do actually, we met at the Winchester some months ago, spent quite a long night talking about work; I'm a solicitor you see."

Lavinia smiled, for her father did so love to discuss the law "Oh, what a small world."

"If I remember correctly, he also spoke at length about you." Matthew teased. Lavinia blushed "And so he would" Alex said, "what father wouldn't boast about a daughter such as his. Just look at her!" Lavinia pretended to be affronted "Why Mr. MacMurray you forget yourself!"  
"No that's the problem" Matthew said laughingly "he's always like this!"

The evening passed with many smiles and laughs and while Matthew occasionally felt the third wheel, it was the most fun he'd had at dinner for quite some time. He desperately tried to cling to the sense of normality, of levity, of life; as the steaming train shuttled them back towards the front.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Somme has a way of putting things into perspective...

*July 1st, 1916

What a waste. What a complete fucking waste of life. His commanders had been so sure, so damn sure of Haig's plan. They knew they needed to draw attention away from Verdun, to give the French a chance. Haig's plan had sounded so simple; shell the German lines for a week, take out the machine gun nests and detonate some 14 land mines--it would be a stroll in the park once they were over the top--he should have known it was too good to be true. Nonetheless at 7:30 that fateful morning they sent 2/3 of the men over the top. Without the fog of pre-dawn to obscure them, it had been a bloodbath.* Matthew had heard this second hand, only moments before and his head was still reeling with anger and grief. He tried to piece together what he remembered. As far as he could tell, a shell had exploded nearby and someone must have crashed into Matthew, sending him face first into a crater, where he had hit his head on a rock and been knocked unconscious. He winced as he felt anew the throbbing gash on his temple and tried to think back..

~earlier that day~

Matthew woke up to find himself facedown not on the rough cotton pillow from his cot, but the crumbling wet earth of no-mans land. He scrambled to take inventory without moving, in case there were enemy soldiers nearby. Apart from a splitting headache and sore palms, he seemed to be in one piece. He heard a soft moaning and slowly turned to his right, not far from him lay a young man. He tried to scan the area for others but they were in some kind of a ditch. Matthew listened for a moment, not hearing gunshots or shells, just the usual cacophony of moans that followed every offensive maneuver. "Psst" he said quietly, trying to get the boys attention without drawing that of any Germans. "Are you injured, man?" He turned his head at Matthews voice, Christ he can't be more than 19, Matthew thought. "Private Ian Wallace, Sir" The boy whispered back, "I think I've injured my leg but I've not broken it." Matthew carefully lifted his head off the ground and looked at the sky...by his estimate it looked like late afternoon. The days were getting longer, they'd have to wait a bit before there was adequate cover. His mind whirred, trying to figure out how to get them both back alive. Surely he couldn't have been thrown too far.. "Private Wallace, I'm Officer Crawley. We’ll have to wait until the sun sets, but your leg—do you think you can crawl?”

The boy looked pale, but he smiled thinly “Suppose 'twouldn't be too comfortable to sleep here tonight, I reckon I can manage it Sir.” Matthew smiled back. 

They talked sparingly, and apart from Matthew poking his head out of the ditch to ascertain which direction they’d be going, stayed where they were. After what felt like hours, the sun finally started to dip below the horizon— it was time for them to move. 

He gestured to Wallace and the two began to crawl, stopping every now and then so Wallace didn't aggravate his injury. They were about 50 meters from what Matthew prayed was their lines when the worst happened. The previous week had seen significant rainfall and with the constant shelling and detonation of the land mines some of the shallower graves had been...unsettled. Wallace let out a yell and reared up as his arm slipped on a decomposing limb. 

"No!" Matthew shouted as he heard the whirr and sickeningly familiar sound of a bullet hitting flesh. The boy cried out and fell back against the ground. "Wallace!" Matthew exclaimed, and he shuffled over. The young man moaned and raised his head, "I'm alright sir. Just caught me in the shoulder." The commotion had attracted attention and Matthew saw the end of a bayonet levelled at them. He took off his helmet "Stop! Please, we're British!"

"Crawley?! S'that you?!" came the reply. The voice was familiar to Matthew and he sagged in relief. "Yes it is Stephenson--kindly order a stretcher for Davis here." Since the sharpshooter would surely be watching for more activity, Matthew waited a moment before edging around to Davis's side, taking care to stay low. "Put your arm around my shoulders man, we're nearly there." Slowly, and grunting with the effort, the two made it to the trenches. The men took Davis onto the stretcher and Matthew leaned heavily against the wall. Stephenson approached him with a flask of water, he held it out and Matthew accepted it gratefully, his hand only shaking slightly as he drank. Adrenaline still flooded his veins. "We're surely glad to see you, Sir." Stephenson said, his voice tight.   
It was dawning on Matthew that this did not seem at all like the victory they had been told to expect. "What happened?" he asked and though he dreaded the answer, he needed to know. 

He couldn't believe what he was hearing..thousands...tens of thousands of men. In one bloody day so many of the early volunteers had been killed, "pal" battalions from small villages wiped out entirely. The numbers were so bad they weren't making them widely known, Matthew wagered no one back in England would know until they received the standard military envelope. Stephenson shook his shoulder gently, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Crawley? You've got a nasty cut on your forehead..I'm afraid they're stretched thin in medical though.. and I've matters to attend to..." he trailed off. 

Matthew nodded numbly to Stephenson, grasped his shoulder firmly in wordless understanding and stumbled back to his quarters. 

He wet a semi-clean looking handkerchief and pressed it against his temple, wincing slightly at the sting. As he sat on his bed, the ever-present tide of doubt and fear washed over him. Matthew had heard plenty of criticism of their leaders strategy; "Lions led by Donkeys" was how he remembered it being mocked. He'd never given much credit to the sentiment until now. Uncertainties plagued him once more; What was he doing here? What was he fighting for? Why, in gods name, was he still alive when so many young men were not? As after other battles, Matthew took deep breaths, tried to steady his racing thoughts. Home, he reminded himself firmly, I am fighting for my country, for my home, fighting so that I might return home, return to those I...  
Love was what ought to have come next, only Matthew was suddenly struck with clarity. When he thought of those he loved, his first thought was of Mary. Of course Mother and Cousin Robert and many others followed but it was Mary's face that he pictured, her smile and embrace and...  
He squeezed his eyes shut as he was barraged by happy memories of their time together, during Sybil's season in London. Dancing, walking through the park, kissing...   
His eyes darted to the drawer next to his bed--he needed to read that letter. 

 

Mary 

As she stared at the blank piece of paper, she wondered how to start. Should she start with levity or plunge right into the heart of the matter. She sighed...this letters importance made it all the harder to write. She and Isobel had spent the afternoon together, discussing all kinds of things. Mary felt she understood Matthew a little better, after spending such a time with his mother; hearing about his adventures as a boy, how he dealt with the loss of his father,the changes Isobel had noticed in him since they'd arrived 3 years ago. She shook her head. It did no good to put it off, Isobel told her she would post her own letter by the end of the week, and Mary planned to send hers in the same envelope.  
Isobel had also told her that War regulations meant her letter would quite possibly be opened and read…how was she to explain herself when any old busybody might be reading her story? An idea struck her suddenly and she dipped her pen int the inkwell, sending out a prayer that this letter would be enough. 

 

Dear Matthew,  
I pray that this letter finds you well. I'm sure you'll have read your mother's letter and are aware of our newfound friendship. I do hope you will read this letter, and know I write it in utmost sincerity--heaven knows what you think of me now. I of all people know it doesn't do much good to dwell on the past but in this case I'm afraid I must.   
I know that you are familiar with the story of Andromeda. I would beg your opinion on a different version of this tale. What if Andromeda, for all her beauty and grace, was naive and foolish and, in a moment of weakness gave her virtue to the wrong man? Someone she didn’t know, didn’t love. What if after Perseus rescued her and the two were better acquainted he proposed? Andromeda must have known how Perseus would feel about such a thing--and as a result she might have spent months trying to find some way to tell him. Loving him too much to marry him in a lie but knowing, just as she despised herself- so would he? He'd be justified in parting ways with her, of course. But perhaps, after a time had passed and Andromeda had realized just how much her silence had cost her, perhaps she could find Perseus again, beg his understanding, his forgiveness, so that the two might resurrect some of the happiness they shared together. Or perhaps Perseus would rue the day he saved her from that damn sea monster.  
I know it is asking a great deal, but I find myself asking the same. Might you forgive me Matthew?For all the hurt I've caused and time I've wasted? I confess I lie awake at night, wondering about you, afraid I'll never have the chance to tell you in person just how sorry I am. Praying that I'll see you again. I actually did see you, you know, when you were secluded away at Grantham house on leave. I understand why you did not send word about your visit but still wish you had. Papa worries about you, I'm sure you know--he loves you like the son he never had. I'm running out of space on the page now and I don't want to ramble so I'll leave it here. I do so hope to hear back from you, hope our paths might cross again soon.   
You are in my thoughts and prayers,

Love always,

Mary

Matthew stared at the letter, gripping it tightly in his hands. How had he let this sit in his drawer for so long? His emotions were jumbled; regret, confusion, sorrow, joy. He tried to cling to the tentative warmth of hope he felt blooming in his chest. She loved him. She was thinking of him. She wanted his forgiveness. Of course that led him to the the matter that was not as joyful..the purpose of her letter. Was she trying to say she had taken a lover? That she had been with another man? The idea was hurtful, yes, but clearly she regretted it deeply. He wondered when this could have possibly occurred? The only man he could think of as serious competition for Mary's hand was Evelyn Napier and he didn't seem the type to make such advances--and wasn't he engaged to someone else not long after? Jealousy was not an entirely new feeling when it came to Mary and he tried to think back..Strallen was out, the Duke of Crowbourough spent only a day at Downton...he could only really remember being jealous at how Mary had flirted with that attractive foreigner, the one who had died--  
No. Matthew thought. No it couldn't have been..the man had died in his bed..hadn't he? Matthew shook his head, this was all too confusing. The cut on his head throbbed at the motion and he was returned, suddenly, to the clarity that had led him to finally open her letter. What did it matter if she had taken a lover-he knew plenty of men who'd been with women before they were shipped off--some of them were killed not long after. He thought of all the horrible things he'd seen, had done with his own hands--was he really in a position to judge? Mary said she loved him, had loved him for some time now. God knows he had been hers from the moment she had strolled into Grantham House and put him firmly in his place. He felt his heart swell with new possibility, like he was seeing a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. He closed his eyes, God if he might return to her...

At that same moment Alex burst through his doorway, "You're alive!" he said, his voice full of relief. He strode forward and clapped his friend on the arm. Matthew smiled up at him, "Seems I am. You, my friend, look worse than me.” Alex's eyes darkened slightly "If you find yourself in the medical bay you'll know why. I've been at it all day and I was going to find something to eat, will you join me?" Matthew nodded, knowing his friend was in need of respite. He placed the letters back in his drawer and followed Alex out of the room. One thing was for sure, he’d be writing a very important letter. 

 

*actual facts curtesy of my WW1 history class this semester :D*


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew finally writes Mary back!

_Pathetic fallacy_ was an interesting term, Mary thought idly, as she stared out the window across from her and sipped her tea. The weather seemed as abysmal and dreary as she felt. It was well into July but from the cloudy, grey weather you might have believed it was still January. She saw Carson enter the room with the morning mail out of the corner of her eye, but paid him no mind, she was past that. The first couple of months she had waited anxiously, but when no reply came she wondered if the letter had even made its destination. Matthew still wrote brief letters to Isobel, she knew, but he hadn't mentioned her revelation. Still, she was determined not to just sit and mope, Isobel had encouraged them all to help the war effort, and for the last two monthsshe, Edith and Sybil had gone to visit with convalescing soldiers at the village hospital. They had brought them books and had tea with them, helped them write letters to their families. Some of the more badly wounded, those blinded by gas or missing limbs, those severely disfigured, well they gave a new twist to Mary's nightmares. Still, it had felt good to help, to contribute, to have a purpose. Sybil had found the experience especially rewarding, fluttering around and asking the nurses about what they were doing. Edith had enjoyed being in demand as a conversational partner for once, Mary was sure.

 

"Mary" her father brought her out of her reverie. He held out a letter to her "This one's addressed to you." Mary felt her stomach drop, her tea cup clattering noisily as she set it down in its saucer.

"Thank you papa" Mary said, trying desperately to keep her emotions in check. She slipped the letter into her pocket and finished her tea, before excusing herself. She needed somewhere private to open the letter and found herself wandering outside; ff course she ended up on _their_ bench. Feeling a strange combination of both longing and dread, she pried open the envelope with trembling fingers.

 

_Dear Mary,_

_Thank you so much for your note. I am glad to hear that you are well, I think of everyone at the Abbey often. I find your thoughts on the myth of Andromeda and Perseus to be most intriguing. Something we tend to forget in the telling of tales, the stories of damsels and heroes--of sea monsters too for that matter, is that characters, like real people, are flawed. They make many decisions, some which they might regret, true, but they needn't be defined by them. In fact, If you ask me I’d say Perseus might have been rather obnoxious, really. Did he bother to listen to Andromeda's side of the story, I wonder? Or did he let his own pride and misgivings rule his actions? Perhaps after he stormed off in a huff he would regret being so rash. Maybe he missed Andromeda later but wasn't sure how she felt about him, maybe he always had doubts about how she felt about him. Insecure Perseus, maybe he wondered if she only felt obliged to marry him because he saved her from that sea monster…_

  _I write to you now, in the middle of all this and everything else seems rather small. I_ _t is my turn now Mary, to apologize. I am so very sorry it took me so long to write back, I would blame it on the War but really it was my own fault. I must confess, also, that I too saw you in the village when I was on leave, I hadn't the faintest idea of what to say to you so I hid like a coward. Like a little boy still in grammar school. If ever you need a laugh, just picture me jumping over mothers front gate and quivering in the hedge._

_I am so very grateful that you were brave enough to write to me, brave enough to offer more of Andromeda’s story. I am wise enough not to make promises I can't keep but should I be fortunate enough to make it back on leave again I would very much like to see you, to discuss the tale Andromeda and Perseus at length. In the meantime, perhaps you would do me the honour of writing me again sometime?_

_I will eagerly await your reply,_

_Yours faithfully,_

 

_Matthew_

 

Mary finished his letter and ran the tip of her finger over his name. Though discussing such things under the guise of Greek mythology was necessary, she did find it a bit cryptic. The main point was clear, she supposed. He did not despise her, as she had so long feared he would. She smiled and let out a short laugh at the image of him jumping the gate at Crawley house. She felt a warmth in her heart that she had long thought extinguished. There was a chance, something to hope for. The cloudy skies seemed lighter somehow, as she stared up at the giant tree, its canopy of leaves stretching out above her. She smiled, a smile that, if anyone were around to observe it, lit up her entire face. Not the blank, accommodating smile that she had been trained to paste on her face, but a genuine one. Hit by a sudden thought, she stood up--she had a response to write!

 

 

August 4th 1916

 

_Matthew_

"Hold still ye bastard!" Alex exclaimed, as Matthew fidgeted again. "Well it’s certainly dislocated" Alex pronounced, wiping the sweat from his brow. August had brought with it stifling heat, and Matthew was trying desperately to remember what Mrs.Patmore'ssweet ices tasted like.

Matthew had again been caught in the action, and again been largely spared, apart from some shrapnel and a dislocated shoulder. The careful removal of the shrapnel and re-setting of this shoulder left both Matthew and Alex harried and overheated.

Alex reached for the flask on his desk--at this point Matthew didn't mind overmuch whether it was whisky or water. After he took a swig he offered it to Matthew, which he gladly accepted with his uninjured left hand; it was water today.

Alex raised an eyebrow as he took it back "Yes it's water, in heat like this you need to keep hydrated--and I never drink during the day while we're on the offensive! I may be a Scot but I’m no’ a fool.”

Some offensive, Matthew thought rather bitterly. Several weeks in and they'd made little progress. They'd done their job of distracting the Germans from Verdun, but at what cost? Matthew shuddered to think back to **that** day. Still, he supposed, it had led to him opening Mary's letter. She had wrote back quickly, he'd received her letter a week ago, agreeing they'd talk about things WHEN not IF he came back on leave. He knew it wouldn't be possible until things quieted down, or at least until reinforcements had been sent. Alex was back at his desk "Suppose now you'll be wanting to take your leave early hmm?" he said, as he looked over a file.

"What do you mean?" Matthew asked, sitting up straight and wincing slightly.

"This came for you while I was removing the shrapnel, something about a unit from Devonshire being sent to relieve you. And besides, you'll be no more than cannon fodder out there, unless you can suddenly shoot a gun left-handed." Matthew looked down at this right shoulder, currently in a sling, then back up at Alex "So you're saying I could take my leave sooner?" Alex smiled back "Oh aye, I'd reckon it'll take a week at least for that shoulder to mend..who knows, I might get some work done here wi'out you running around under my feet." Matthew nodded, hardly hearing Alex's teasing. His mind was whirring with possibilities, train schedules. If he could arrange his leave by the end of the week he could be inLondon the following, then in York in time for the concert. Both his mother and Mary had written about it in their letters, it seemed more funding was sorely needed for the hospital, they were hosting a charity concert at Downton to raise money. Mary, he found out, had been quite helpful in the last months, his mother wrote to him proudly. He had smiled when he had read about her volunteering at the hospital, trying hard to envision Mary in a red-cross uniform... soon he might be able to see her in person! He stood up and nodded his head to his friend, "Thanks Alex, I'll see you later?" Alex waved him off, his eyes on the next patients charts. He looked up as Matthew left the room. He hoped that this “Lady Mary" had one hell of a welcome for his friend.

 

 

_Mary_

 

As much as Mary enjoyed London, this was always the most unpleasant part of her trip. She shouldered her way through the busy station, rueing her own foolishness at not getting here earlier--the place was a zoo, hundreds of people; older men, women and soldiers, were getting on and off their trains and Mary was determined to reach hers before it left without her! She knew she had to keep her attention focused on the porter in front of her, but she couldn't help but think of Matthew, as she saw all the young men in uniform. It was bittersweet, seeing the men coming home on leave, while reminded of those who would never return. She heard the warning whistle of the conductor and realized how close she was to missing her train--they would never forgive her if she missed the silly concert. She pushed forward and finally made her way to the front of the train, tipping the porter and going to find a seat. Mary scanned the compartments as she walked along First Class, finding most of them occupied. She was starting to worry she would have to share her compartment. Ahah! Finally she spotted an empty compartment and stepped inside, putting her hand luggage on the shelf above the seat. She turned around and gasped, briefly startled to realize she was not alone like she thought: there was a soldier slumped in the seat opposite hers, his cap slung over his eyes. Her entrance had clearly woken him, for he stretched his legs and took his cap off. Mary gasped again, for an altogether different reason. She knew this solider.

" _Matthew_?" She asked, not daring to believe her eyes. Matthews eyes--goodness had they always been so blue?--widened in surprise, no doubt mirroring her own. He smiled; oh, how she had missed that smile.

"Mary."

Neither of them spoke, too caught up in the moment, unwilling to burst the bubble they suddenly found themselves in. As Mary stared at Matthew and he stared at her in return neither of them heard the conductor blowing his whistle. The train started to move and Mary, still standing frozen in place, lurched forward. Matthew, fully awake now, stood;reaching with his left arm to steady her. She blushed faintly and ducked her head in thanks, internally cursing herself for her clumsiness. Having lowered her gaze, she noticed that his right arm was tied to his torso in a sling. She looked back up at him, concern evident on her face "Matthew your arm! Are you hurt?" Matthew looked briefly at his arm, unwilling to let his eyes leave her for long."It's alright really, just dislocated. Doctor said it'll have to be in a sling for at least a week or two and I'm not much good over there if I can't shoot a gun." he said ruefully. Though he was overjoyed to see Mary, the notion of his men back on the front without him didn't sit easy on his mind. "Still" he said, trying not to dampen the mood, "It brought up my leave somewhat;thought I'd get the early train home and surprise you all."

Mary smiled back at him, relief flooding through her that his arm wasn't permanently disabled. "Well" she said "consider me surprised." They lapsed into silence again, both just enjoying being in the same room with one and other. Matthew rolled his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable. “Shall we sit?" He said, taking his seat on the bench and gesturing for her to take her place across from him. "I hardly know what to say" she confessed, "It's been so long."

Matthew smiled slightly, "I'm very glad to see you..looking so well."

"Well now, you're looking quite dashing yourself. The uniform suits you" she said, a hint of teasing in her voice. After dreaming for the last month what their reunion might be like, she suddenly found herself at loss for words. He leaned forward, a determined look on his face. “Mary,your letter " he said softly. "I must tell you again how sorry I am for not reading it sooner. It was quite clever of you to write as you did, but I must know. Did I understand what you wrote correctly? Did you.." he took a deep breath, "did you take Pamuk as a lover?" Mary's eyes widened, how had he guessed? "No! Well, I suppose that's what I made it seem but really I had never intended..." her voice trailed off as she tried to figure out what to say, how to explain her strange predicament. She felt his warm hand on hers, resting on her knees.

"Please Mary? I'd like to know.."

Mary looked back into his eyes, having realized this moment was inevitable.Now it was her turn to take a deep breath and for the second time, tell the story of that fateful night. After she was done she gave him a minute to let it settle in, she could see his thoughts flitting one by one across his face. After what felt like an eternity she spoke, "Please say something? Even if it's only Goodbye." 

"Mary" he said, his voice sounding peculiar, "it's a pity that man is dead because I'd quite like to kill him myself." His tone turned low and almost dangerous, something Mary had never heard before. "He forced himself into your room and took advantage of you! He blackmailed you into getting what he wanted and somehow that’s your fault? My god Mary.." He closed his eyes and rubbed his hand over his face. Mary pressed forward, ”You understand I am made different by it..I am impure--"

" **DON'T** " Matthew said loudly. Mary jumped, startled by his change in demeanour.

"Mary if you knew the things I've gone through.. the things I've done.." He shook his head, "If anyone is impure, unworthy, it is me." He closed his eyes again and hung his head. The silence was like a lead weight.

"You'll forgive me then?" Mary said faintly.

He looked up at her, "Haven't you been listening? Mary, there's nothing to forgive! I…” his voice faltered, "I must confess I am not the man I was two years ago, but.. will you forgive me? Will you give me another chance?"

Mary didn't remember deciding to get up, only knowing that she needed to go to him, to not be separated from him when they were finally in the same room. He turned to face her and she raised her hand to his face, sweeping her thumb across his cheek. His face was leaner, some of the lines on his forehead were deeper, but his sky-blue eyes that she loved, the man she loved was still there. His own hand mirror hers, cupping her jaw and pulling her closer. 2 years and they still remembered how it had been before."The man you were, the man I know you still are… _yes, yes of course_!" And then his lips were on hers and her hand was gripping the nape of his neck and the years and secrets faded away—they were together now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long guys! I wrote it a couple months back but somehow it didn't get posted? Now classes have Finished in going to try and get back to writing my unfinished fics :) Enjoy!

Matthew

Though it wasn't entirely appropriate, Mary spent the rest of the train ride on the bench, often tightly grasped to him. If she pressed somewhat on his wounded side it was something he was more than willing to endure. Having caught the earliest train to London, he dozed off at some point. Matthew would have thought the whole thing a dream if not for the warm weight of her, head resting on his shoulder and hands in her lap.

Matthew smiled and grasped one of her hands with his own. She mustn't have been sleeping for she turned her head to look up at him. Mary's mouth quirked up at one side "Welcome back" she teased "did you have a nice rest?"

"Very nice thank you." He said " I was having a lovely dream where I was trapped in a train compartment with a beautiful woman."

"Trapped?" She said, mock-indignantly."Happily so" he replied, chuckling. "How long was I asleep?"

"For a while, I think we're nearly there."

Matthew turned to look out the window, at the familiar Yorkshire fields speeding by. He froze when he felt Mary's fingertips brush and linger on his temple. After a month the scar had mostly healed, but the hair around the wound had to be shaved, and was short and bristly. He turned to face her and saw her furrowed brow, the question plain on her face. Still, he was reluctant to drag memories of the war into their peaceful moment. She waited a couple beats before asking quietly, "how did...what happened?" Matthew tried to figure out how best to tell her, without going into detail..oh god that wretched day..

His nightmares came often, the Somme a reoccurring one. They had all had security orders drilled into their heads: no discussing potentially sensitive information. Still, he had been so shocked by the British newspapers he'd nearly dropped them.

"The Glorious 1st of July" read the Sketch

"Great British Offensive...German Trenches Occupied...Our Casualties not Heavy" Those were the "official" statements.

"Well" he started slowly, "The blast from a shell knocked some of us over and I hit my head there" he placed his fingers over hers. "I was knocked unconscious and woke up hours later."

"How terrible" Mary whispered. Matthew closed his eyes as the memory washed over him, the noise, the panic, the fear in Wallace's eyes. "Actually it was pretty lucky. So many men died that day Mary...if I hadn't been knocked out I would have almost certainly been amongst them." The next day, when he saw the number of men in the medical bay, as he crossed out the names of men that didn't show up to roll call, he had realized just how lucky he had been. "Oh Matthew" she said, putting her arms around his neck and holding him tightly. Matthew tried desperately to stop the stinging feeling in the corners of his eyes, he shouldn't be blubbing-not here, not now, not when he was still alive. He wrapped his good arm around her, his hand splayed on her back and sent out a silent prayer of thanks, that he had at least been spared till now.

All too soon, the train started to slow and Mary drew back, smiling before taking her original seat opposite him."You haven't ordered a car have you?" She asked. He hadn't, of course, thinking in the worst case scenario he could always walk. Matthew shook his head. Mary tsked, "well you can ride with me, Papa will have sent Branson to the station. We can drop you off at Crawley House on the way." Matthew suddenly felt sad at the thought of leaving her..still, he reminded himself, he would see her later at the concert. He nodded his head and smiled in thanks, then turned to watch as they pulled into the station. Matthew had little luggage, as they waited for Mary's to be offloaded he noticed Roberts valet getting off the 3rd class car. Mary had spotted him too, as he walked towards them " !" She greeted him "Nobody told me you'd be returning today."

"They didn't know milady" he said in response. "Good to see you again Mr. Crawley." Matthew tipped his head. Mary looked at him briefly then turned back to Bates, "You're welcome to ride back with us in the motor" she offered. Bates looked at the two of them "Thats very kind of you milady, thank you."They were both quite during the ride, aware of Branson and Bates in the front of the car. Still, their joined hands rested on seat between them, Matthews thumb tracing circles on the back of Mary's gloved hand. Matthew smiled to her as he got out of the car "I'll see you at the concert." She nodded her head and he shut the car door, stepping back from the curb. He strolled up to the front gate, glad that this time he wasn't hiding from anyone. Mosley answered the door, his eyes wide with surprise " -" Matthew held his finger to his lips and shook his head, passing the butler as he entered the house. He tried to walk lightly but the creaking of the floorboards betrayed him.

"Yes, Mosley?" Isobel asked, her voice coming from the sitting room. Matthew stepped into the doorway "I'm afraid not." Her head snapped up from the newspaper she was reading "Matthew!?" She exclaimed in disbelief. "Whatever are you doing here? I thought your leave wasn't until later?" She got up and met him in the middle of the room, embracing him as was her custom. His mothers hugs were as enthusiastic as ever and he grunted quietly at the pressure on his wound. Isobel noticed the change in her sons posture, his immobile right arm and pulled back to look at him. "What is it? What's happened?" He smiled at her reassuringly "Don't worry mother, I'm fine. He nodded his head to his right "My shoulder was badly dislocated and I got some shrapnel in my side but both will heal." Isobel nodded in understanding "I imagine you can't contribute much while you're unable to fire a gun."

"Exactly." he said "it made more sense for them to move my leave up, allow me to recover. Besides, this way I'm here for the concert. You and Mary both mentioned it, so it must be important." Isobel grinned "I'm so glad you and Mary are on speaking terms. Oh! She'll be so delighted to see you!" Matthew smiled sheepishly, "Actually I've already seen her, we met on the station."

Mary

"How was your time in London my dear?" Cora asked as Mary entered the main hall. "Oh!" Mary said, somewhat distractedly "it was lovely, thank you Mama." She gave her mother a quick peck on the cheek and walked briskly up to her room, she had to decide what to wear! Cora was puzzled at Mary's abrupt departure but was too busy with final concert preparations to let it bother her.

Later that evening, Cora popped her head into Mary's room "Are you ready dear?" Mary sat at her vanity, watching Anna put the final touches on her hair. "Nearly Mama."

"Are you looking forward to seeing Matthew tonight?" Cora asked. Mary smiled and nodded. She hadn't told her mother that the two had shared a train compartment, a war may have been on, but she didn't think her mother would like her riding in a train compartment with a young man, unchaperoned. Besides, that train ride was something she would always treasure, she wasn't ready to share it just yet. "I think it's rather a miracle, Mary must be quite charming over handwriting." Edit quipped from her place in the corner. Anna had finished with her hair and Mary turned to look at her sister "if I'm looking for tips on being charming I know who not to go to."

"Oh I don't know Mary, I think Private Barnaby would disagree." Sybil said, seated on Mary's bed. Private Barnaby was one of the soldiers they had met at the hospital, and a notorious flirt. "Sybil!" Edith said, trying hard to sound indignant as her younger sister started giggling. Mary let out a laugh as she dabbed some scent on her wrists and neck. The real miracle was the change in her relationship with her sisters. She hadn't completely gone soft, but she no longer felt the need to be venomous. The war really had changed them.

~February, 1916~

After a month without any word from Matthew, Mary had become withdrawn, not rising to Edith's jibes and frequently retiring early in the evening. Edith had been walking by her room on one such evening and had heard Mary crying. Curious, she pushed into her room. Mary stiffened at the intrusion, hastily wiping her face. "God Edith, have you forgotten how to knock?"

Edith raised a brow "Why were you crying?" Mary's mouth tightened into a line, she would not be judged by Edith, of all people. "Honestly Mary, what have you got to cry about? Oh poor me, the favourite child, forced to spend my days riding my horse and paying calls." Mary felt the familiar urge to slap her sister, but knew violence wouldn't help anything. It might be cathartic, but she had come to realized that Edith was more than likely to behave in kind. "Oh spare me Edith. I don't have to explain myself to you."

Edith was only more curious. What would make cold-hearted Mary cry? She noticed a photograph on her night table and stepped closer, peering at the man. "Good god, is that Matthew?" Edith looked at her dubiously "Really Mary, I thought you were only going to marry him unless something better came along?" Mary's jaw clenched, but she did not speak. Edith pressed on "I wouldn't have called Cousin Matthew lucky, being at war, but then it helped him to escape you, that's something isn't it?" Mary closed her eyes, for once feeling unprepared to do battle with Edith. Edith was enjoying having the upper hand, but it was no fun when Mary ignored her. Sensing Mary's weakness, she aimed a blow she knew would land. "You should see it as a blessing, calling off your engagement. There's no way he would have stayed with you after he found out what you're really like, how the men you invite to your bed don't live to tell the tale."

Mary's eyes shot open, her cheeks flushed and Edith realized she might have pushed too far. She turned to face her sister "As always Edith, you know nothing. I wouldn't wish what happened that night on my worst enemy, not even on you! But since you're so determined to paint me as a monster, I think you should hear the whole story, not the one you've fabricated in your mind!" Mary climbed off the bed, wrapping her housecoat around her. Indicating for Edith to sit, Mary's face must have been serious indeed, for her sister sat down without question. Then Edith learned the full story, the tale of the Turkish Gentleman. After she was finished, Mary walked around to her vanity table, taking a drink of water and realizing her hands were shaking. Not with fear, but with anger. After she had spoken to Isobel, Mary had started to think of that night differently, had started to accept that she hadn't brought it on herself, that it wasn't her fault. Edith's obvious glee at her trauma had brought forth anger and Mary knew that if her sister made another snide comment she'd be getting more than just a slap.

"Mary" Edith said, and she spun around, ready for a fight. Edith paused, "I'm sorry" she said, for once, sounding sincere. She got up, took one step towards Mary before stopping. "I am sorry Mary, truly." Then she left, closing the door softly behind her. The two didn't speak further about the matter, but in the next week the tension that had always existed between them seemed to have lessened. Cora and Robert were bewildered, cautiously waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sybil was thrilled, happy that it seemed her older sisters had finally called a truce.

Mary turned again, looking at herself in the full length mirror. She had wanted to wear her new beaded dress, but it was sleeveless and daring; perhaps not quite appropriate for a fundraising concert. Still, she mused, now she could wear it for Matthew on a more casual occasion. Satisfied, she headed downstairs to join her family. Milling about, she greeted neighbours and kept looking towards the door wondering when he would finally arrive.

Matthew

They were greeted at the door by none other than Carson, "Mrs. Crawley, Mr. Crawley." Matthew smiled at him and he could have sworn the usually impervious butler almost smiled back. A footman he didn't recognize took their coats and Matthew handed him his olive great-coat reluctantly. Though his mother had said the colour suited him, he couldn't help but feel conspicuous in his bright red dinner jacket. Though Robert and a few others were dressed the same, he still felt he stood out like a sore thumb. Matthew scanned the room for Mary, his eyes landing on her at the front of seats, speaking to Sybil. As if hearing his thoughts, she turned her head and met his gaze. She smiled broadly and he felt his lips curl up in response. He took a step towards her but was intercepted by Robert. "Matthew! My dear fellow, welcome back! This is a wonderful surprise, when Mary told me she saw you at the station I was thrilled." He shook Matthews hand excitedly. Matthew smiled, he had missed Roberts exuberance.

"Yes Papa, it is a lovely surprise" Mary said quietly, coming around to stand beside her father. "Isobel" she said in greeting, "Matthew." Robert shared a knowing glance with Isobel and they left the two to get reacquainted. "You look lovely" Matthew said, the glamour of Downton seeming like another world. Mary looked lovely in whatever she wore. Mary smiled demurely, "I might almost say the same thing, red suits you."

"I feel like a bit of a fool, but I'm flattered you think so." God, how he wished they were back in the train compartment, just the two them, without several pairs of eyes watching their every move. "Mary, might we talk later?" She was about to reply, but was cut off my the musicians starting to play. Mary smiled and boldly took his left arm, leading him to their seats at the front. He had no doubt she would find a way. The concert was lovely, or Matthew assumed it was, for he was distracted by Mary's hand constantly brushing his, where it rested on his leg. He was shook out of this when a couple of village girls caused a disturbance, handing out so called "feathers of cowardice". Matthew felt bad for Mason, and for the others. Though he knew more recruits were needed, he also knew what awaited them at the front. After that the concert passed fairly quickly. As they entered the dining room he was pleased to see he was again sitting next to Mary. When the time came to turn he had taken a mouthful of a particularly lovely piece of beef. A small moan slipped out and he met Mary's surprised face, her eyebrows raised. "You're clearly enjoying yourself" Mary remarked. Matthew chewed and swallowed before responding "oh Mary, I've missed you and mother and everyone else but the food? There are times at the front I would be happy eat Mrs. Patmore's salty pudding."

Mary couldn't help but chuckle at the memory that conjured. Of more innocent times, the two of them laughing like school children at Sir Anthony's misfortune. "Us and Mrs. Patmore's cooking? That's what you've missed?"

"Well", Matthew said "a decent cup of tea for sure, dry socks, hot bathes!" Mary blushed. "Well then. We must make sure you get plenty while you're here." Matthew smiled and took another bite of his dinner.

When the men stayed to drink after the meal had finished, Matthew sat beside Robert. " Mary mentioned something about you getting a Colonelcy."Robert nodded, grinning "Indeed I have! General Haig himself suggested me." Matthew stiffed at the name. "Butcher Haig", as he was known amongst the officers, was behind many campaigns that ended with staggeringly high casualties. Brilliant military mind he was not. Matthew put his hand on the arm of the man who had become like a father to him. "Robert, please believe me when I tell you, You don't want to be in the army again." Robert started to say something but Matthew wasn't finished. "No, it is not the same as the Boer, this war Robert...it's unthinkably worse. The German weaponry is advanced, the poison gas...if I'm here standing before you in one piece its by the grace of God alone. It's very likely I won't make it and then who will maintain Downton? A complete stranger, even more distantly related than I was?" Roberts forehead was furrowed. "But Matthew, I feel so useless, I cannot just sit here while everyone else risks their lives!"

"Please Robert, I know you want to help but surely there must be another way? Perhaps a position that would keep you on this side of the channel?" A thought passed through Roberts mind, he knew Shrimpie was involved in foreign affairs.. He finished his drink and stood. "Well Matthew, I appreciate your honesty and your concern. You've given me a lot to think about. Shall we rejoin the ladies?" Matthew nodded and stood up as well, he had tried his best, he only hoped it was enough.

Having rejoined the rest of the party, Matthew was cornered first by Sybil then by Cousin Violet, but when one of the new maids came into the room unannounced, he took advantage of the momentary confusion to walk over to Mary.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" She asked. He smiled "I am, thank you. The company, in particular." Matthew leaned in a little closer, dropping his voice, "I had been planning on taking a walk in the village, checking on some of the cottages. If you're not busy, perhaps you'd join me?"

"I'll have to check my schedule, but I don't see why not." Mary said coyly.

After Mosley had helped him change for the night, he opened his night table drawer. He moved some papers, a novel or two, before he found it. The small, red velvet box that he'd had since the fall of 1913. He'd learnt a lot in the last couple of years, chief among them was to never take things for granted. Placing it on top of the papers, he smiled as he closed the drawer. One thing was certain, he would make his time at Downton count.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew and Mary have a picnic (Cuteness ensues)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzah! I have graduated and now have a lot more time to work on this fic ;) Enjoy

Midday the next morning, Mary strolled along a mostly shaded path to meet Matthew,picnic basket in hand. She had to scramble a bit and aim several compliments Mrs.Patmore's way, but in the end not even the hard-boiled cook could begrudge Mat hew (a returning solider!) and her a small basket of food. She had spied fresh hot-cross buns on the top of the goods and smiled; Matthew would be so pleased,she was sure.  
The sun was starting to make it's self known, but there were still some large clouds in the centre of the bright blue sky. Mary hoped the weather would stay pleasant, but was also a little concerned she might perspire--Matthew had always set a rather fast pace.  
She spotted his figure leaning against a tree, hat in his hand. Clearly he was feeling the heat as well, and suddenly felt lucky for her cream blouse and pale blue skirt. He saw her approach and smiled, "Good morning Mary." She smiled back, "It certainly is. Papa was swearing up and down it was going to rain but it looks like a lovely day for a walk. And," she said, holding up the basket, "perhaps a small picnic." His smile widened into a grin, "That sounds wonderful. Can I help you with that?"   
She shook her head, "No, thank you, but I'm more than able to carry it." Truthfully it was feeling a little bit heavy, but she would much rather leave Matthew’s uninjured arm unoccupied, if she felt inclined to link it with her own. 

They started to walk, Matthew asking Mary about the tenants, about her work at the hospital. He did not speak much about his time at the Front, only anecdotes of his friends during moments of rest. She hoped he was alright, she had seen soldiers coming back, knew that most of them had injuries both visible and invisible. Still, she supposed, it was not her place to pry. If he wanted to talk to her about it then he would.  
One or two of the tenants came out to say hello, Matthew shook with his left-hand somewhat sheepishly but Mary still felt herself beam with pride. He had made an impact here without even being Earl.  
After an hour she noticed Matthew reach up to fidget with his tie again, looking a bit flushed from the heat. "Shall we have our picnic now?" she asked him, gesturing to a large oak that offered a bit of respite from the hot sun.   
"Yes, yes that sounds perfect." he replied, sounding a bit relieved. Mary looked at the grass,wishing she had thought to bring a blanket; she hated to give Anna extra work and her skirt was sure to be stained if she sat down too heavily.  
As if reading her mind, Matthew offered her his coat. "Are you sure?" She asked, feeling slightly guilty. He grinned and nodded, "Oh yes" he looked around, as if checking to see that no one was around to hear. "I've been itching to get out of this heavy jacket since we started our walk and this way I've got a gentlemanly excuse, I simply could not let you stain your skirt."   
She laughed, "Oh Matthew, don't you remember? I don't care all that much for rules." He smiled wryly, " Well you're welcome to it all the same, I fear I may expire if I don't remove it. I'm just glad I had the foresight to ask Mother to tie the sling over my shirt. He paused "Would you mind...?" She shook her head, yes of course, it would somewhat awkward to take off his jacket with only one hand.Carefully, she reached for the shoulders of his jacket, drawing the right side over and pulling so he could remove his left arm. Was he blushing or just flushed from the sun? She smiled and gratefully folded up his jacket under her. He squatted and sat down beside her, giving her a good view of his arms; he had also clearly asked Mosley to roll up his shirt sleeves. Now it was her turn to feel her face warm slightly. While his right was cradled against his chest, Matthews left forearm looked strong and tan from the sun, the fair blonde hairs standing out against his skin. Mary reprimanded her self to focus, and turned to open the picnic basket.

As she had guessed Matthew wolfed down the sweet buns, and smiled in apology as some of the lemonade she had packed dribbled down his chin. How had she not noticed how handsome he was before? Well she had, she supposed, but her pride had gotten in the way. Mary was still so thankful she had gotten to fix things between them. It would be unbearable to be so separated from him, not to know whether he was dead or alive, or if another woman had captured his attentions.  
"Mary?" he asked again, shaking her from her thoughts. "Sorry,” she said, "What were you saying?"   
"I was asking if you would find it entirely too informal if I lay back for a moment. In the shade it's quite pleasant..” he paused, debating on whether to say something “..you could join me?" he finished, smiling roguishly.  
Well, Mary supposed, her reputation was already tarnished. At least if she was to be reprimanded for this, it would be worth it. She nodded and moved to lay down beside him, still keeping a respectable distance between their bodies. 

As children, Mary and her sisters would run around during the summer, looking for butterflies and having picnic lunches in the grass. What a time the maids must have had with their dresses, covered with grass-stains and dirt. Those had been times before Mary had learnt about what was appropriate, what was dignified for a lady. Still, she reflected, her childhood seemed so easy, so carefree, quite unlike adulthood.  
"Did you ever look up into the sky and try to see shapes in the clouds?” Matthew asked, turning his head to look at her.  
She smiled back, "Would you think me less of a lady if I told you I had?"   
"On the contrary" he chuckled, "I should think it makes you more of one. There's something special about just enjoying the simple things..the moments of peace. It's certainly a rarity for me now.." 

She felt her brow furrow, "Matthew.."   
"No," he said quietly, closing his eyes, "I don't want to speak of it now, not when we're having such a lovely time." She nodded in understanding, "I just wanted to tell you that should you ever wish to, you can tell me about it. You might think me naive but I promise, I've seen the men who come back, I know that it must be horrible. If I can help you, if you want to share the burden, please let me." He opened his eyes again and looked at her intensely, then nodded his head once. The silence lay heavy between them until, Mary spoke.  
Trying to lighten the moment, she joked, "Can you imagine what Granny would say,if she saw us laying here on the grass like a couple of peasants?" He let out a short laugh "I can only imagine."

 

~Matthew~

 

God, she was so lovely. The whole day was turning out perfect, really. The sun was shining, the skies free of aircraft, the ground a lush carpet of green and not a horribly twisted mass of mud, barbed wire and man. They strolled and spoke, if they argued then it was about literature, or music and each time it was more of a spar than a true fight. That was one of the things he had missed most about Mary, her sharp tongue and her wit that went along with it. Mrs.Patmore's treats tasted better than he had remembered and he had become only slightly distracted by Mary licking the icing off of her fingertips, the bottle of lemonade he was drinking slipping slightly and causing a small amount to dribble down his chin. He had debated upon whether or not she would see his invitation to lie down in the grass as beneath her dignity, but in the end she had moved to lie alongside him nonplussed.  
Eventually reality had wormed its way in and he had desperately tried to stop it. Not here, not now, he had told her. She had responded with an offer to listen,should he want it, and his throat felt thick, he could only nod in response.

They had eased back into more neutral ground, swapping childhood stories until he noticed that the clouds had started to gather overhead. Well, he supposed it was almost poetic, it couldn't be sunny forever. Turns out he was more than right. As Matthew was about to suggest to Mary that they start to pack up their picnic, he heard the first crack of lightning, the rumbling roll of thunder than swiftly followed. Turned out that was enough to bring him all the way back to France. He felt his body go rigid, in his mind he heard shells exploding and tried desperately not to let the wave of panic pull him under. Storm clouds began to gather and he felt a fat drop of rain on his cheek, he turned to Mary and tried to keep his voice steady,"Mary, I think it's time we get going."   
Mary's face was clouded with concern but she nodded, helping him to his feet and hanging the jacket over his shoulders. She bent and gathered the basket, carrying it in one hand and taking his left arm with her other. They walked briskly back to Downton but they could not out run the rain as it poured down on their heads. They crossed through a wooded area, trying to save time, and Matthew slipped on some uneven ground, reflexively using his injured right arm to catch himself. He swore under his breath and Mary helped him back up, shoulder throbbing, they had no choice but to continue homewards. 

 

By the time Carson opened the front door at Downton they were nearly soaked to the skin. The Butler looked alarmed, "Milady, I am afraid that his Lordship is in town. Her ladyship went with Lady Sybil and Lady Edith to Ripon then to call on the Dowager Countess." Mary handed him the basket and turned to Matthew, pulling him towards the stairs."That's alright Carson, could you please ring for Anna and tell her to come up to my room?" Carson nodded his head and left, but his brow was still furrowed in concern. Matthew followed Mary, the noise and the rain had brought the war back to him and he was in no state of mind to question where she was leading him. As they passed an unfamiliar part of the house and stepped in to a room it finally dawned on him that she was bringing him to her bedroom. He may have been more a lawyer and soldier than a true gentleman but even he knew that an unmarried man such as himself should not be here. He stopped at the inside of the door, pulling on Mary's arm. "What's wrong?" she asked.  
He looked around, no longer in a stupor but still a little on edge, "I shouldn't be in here."  
She smiled and he wondered that she still looked beautiful soaking wet, her hair plastered to the sides of her face. "Don't be silly, I need to change out of these things and we need to get you a strong cup of tea and some dry clothes.This way will be much quicker." Before he could object Anna appeared in the doorway. "Anna, excellent, I need you to procure a pair of trousers and a dress shirt,  
perhaps a pair of Barrow's if need be. I don't think Matthew will fit Papa's, especially not now." She frowned in thought, "I'll also need some cloth strips and a basin of hot water. And I think we're both in need of a strong cup of tea and something sweet.”  
Anna's eyebrows raised slightly when she saw Matthew only a few paces away, but she nodded, "Yes Milady," and left.  
Mary gestured to the settee by the fireplace, "have a seat Matthew, I'll be right back.” He stood, still feeling this was all a bit surreal. She looked back from her dressing partition," I'm going to change in the bathroom, no peeking now." She said, teasing him.  
After she disappeared Matthew sat down heavily on the crimson settee. This was not at all what he had planned for the day.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the thunderstorm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so short but I promise it's very fluffy ;)

_Mary_

 

 

Once the door was closed Mary took a deep breath. The lovely afternoon had certainly taken a rather dramatic turn. She understood it though, there were soldiers who'd returned that were very sensitive to noise--on one occasion a dropped bedpan had caused more than one solider to tense up or to even start shaking. Mary unbuttoned her blouse and skirt, once again glad for the outfit which allowed her to forgo her usual full-corset. As she changed into dry clothes she couldn't help but blush slightly at the thought, Matthew was only yards away and here she was partially dressed...

She caught her reflection in the mirror, _good heavens her hair..._ Another loud crack of lightning shook her from her thoughts, she had to tend to Matthew. She left the damp clothes on the towel rack and went back into her bedroom. Matthew was sitting just where she'd left him, his elbow was braced on his knee and she could see his hands shaking slightly. She called his name as she walked towards him, as she knew in this state men could be easily startled. He looked up at her, eyes wide. "I'm sorry Mary.." he said softly.

She grasped his hand ( _how was it still so cold?_ ) and squeezed it firmly. "You have nothing to be sorry about."

He closed his eyes, and she was sorely tempted to reach out and smooth the lines she saw creasing his forehead.

A second later there was a quiet knock on the door and Anna came in with the things Mary had sent for. "Thomas was as close as we could find Milady, and since he's not here to put up any fuss" Anna handed her a dry set of clothes. She then went back through the doorway and returned with a large tea tray, the basin of water and a small pile of white clothes.

"Is there anything else I can help with Milady?"

Mary shook her head and dismissed her maid, "No, thank you Anna." She noticed Anna look pointedly at Matthew.

"Shall I let you know of Lord or Lady Grantham's arrival Milady?" She asked.

Mary smiled, _Anna was always thinking ahead_. "Yes, thank you Anna. That would a good idea." Anna nodded and smiled slightly before leaving the room, door open just a crack. Mary turned to Matthew and offered him the clothes. "I know this is all terribly improper Matthew, but these are the only dry clothes I can offer you."

Matthew blinked at her before gently shaking his head and standing up. "No Mary it's fine, thank you. I appreciate all the trouble you're going to. Are you sure you wouldn't rather I called for Bates or tried to telephone Mother?"

Mary shook her head, "I've seen much scarier things at the hospital, believe me." She gestured towards her changing wall, "if you can manage the trousers one-handed I can help you with your shirt and redress your shoulder." She hoped her voice sounded authoritative, like her nursing superiors. Matthew must have noticed something in her tone, for her smiled and ducked his head, taking the proffered trousers and heading to where Mary had directed. Mary went back to the tray and poured the tea, taking a fortifying gulp that burned her throat slightly going down. That was always the best way to drink tea, she believed, just on the edge of piping hot.

Matthew managed to change quickly enough and emerged a moment later, his face slightly flushed. Mary handed him a cup of tea once he sat down, sure he needed it just as much as she had.He too, took a long drink and sighed quietly. Mary grinned, "I suppose you really have missed the tea." He looked back at her, seeming a bit more like himself, "More than you can imagine." A slightly quieter but still audible rumble of thunder came from outside and Matthews teacup rattled in its saucer. He winced, "I'm sorry Mary." She reached for the tea and placed it on the small side table. "Like I said before, it's completely alright. Now let's see about your shoulder." Taking a deep breath and trying desperately to seem professional, Mary unbuttoned Matthews still-damp shirt, somewhat awkwardly wrestling his left arm out of the sleeve and walking around the back of the settee to remove his shirt without jostling the injured right arm. She left the shirt on his right shoulder and was about to walk back to face him when the firelight caught the raised edges of scars on his back. She stopped and stared at the collection of scars, some old, some new, some shallow and some looked like they had been deep. Mary tried not to make a sound but she must have gasped as she got a better look at his left side. Matthews back straightened slightly at the noise. There were blue and purple bruises spanning his rib cage, with still healing suture lines running across his abdomen. "Are those from the explosion?" She asked quietly, her voice almost a whisper.

His voice was low and rough, "Shrapnel. Mary, I was lucky. Am lucky." Mary ran her fingertips along the healed scars on his back. "My Perseus" she whispered, and on impulse placed a kiss on the top of his shoulder. Matthew turned to face her as she lifted her head, staring longingly at her. As he twisted something must have caught for she saw his face tighten in pain. _What was she doing?_ She needed to fix up his shoulder and quick, before her parents came back and another man was caught in her bedroom. She came back around and helped him ease the rest of the shirt off, his right arm and shoulder still very tender. She used a wash cloth to wipe some of the dirt and grass from his stumble, Matthew didn't speak while she did, but his eyes followed her every move. After she was finished she turned back to the tray and took the thin strip of cotton, cutting it to an appropriate length for a sling. Then she helped him into the dry shirt, smiling as Matthew joked he was to once again be mistaken by her for a servant. "Things have certainly changed" she said absently, as she tied the corner of the sling on his opposite shoulder.

"They have indeed" he agreed, "I'm having my sling tied by none other than nurse Crawley while sitting in Lady Mary's bedroom." She looked narrowly at him "Don't think because I'm fixing you up that I won't swat you for inappropriate comments." He grinned. "I would never!"

Mary tried not to let his teasing ruin the moment. She had been working hard over the last months to reconcile herself with “the incident” and felt she had made great progress with how she viewed it, and how she viewed herself. So what if he was the second un-married man she'd let into her room? Matthew was a gentleman and she trusted him completely, she loved him and she knew he would never try anything untoward. She fixed the pin and stepped back to take in her handy work. "How does it feel?" she asked him. He twisted slightly, "Almost as good as new,” he answered, smiling. Matthew took one of the jam cookies from the tea tray and watched her as she tidied up. Mary gathered Matthews damp, but neatly folded clothes. "Shall I have these laundered for you?" she asked. Matthew looked suddenly alarmed, "AH, no Mary, thank you. I can take them back with me." He stood and held his hand out for them and, somewhat confused, she handed them back to him. They stood for a moment in front of the fire, Mary thought that Matthew even looked good in a servants clothes. He'd become trimmer during his time at the front and, though she really couldn't draw comparison as she’d never seen him without a shirt before, she thought his shoulders seemed broader, stronger. The firelight lit the side of his face, making his usual golden hair appear nearly bronze. Mary was struck by the sudden thought that while Matthew was here now, healthy, strong, alive, it would only take a single bullet to take him from her forever. She tried desperately not to think so negatively but her eyes began to sting. Matthew must have noticed because his brow furrowed in confusion, "Mary?" he asked, "What's the matter?" She shook her head, knowing she couldn't voice her worries, he had more than enough to worry about. Instead, she took a step forward and wrapped her arms around his torso; mindful of his injured side. She turned her face and rested it on his chest, his shirt might have smelled like Mrs.Patmore's laundry soap but beneath it she thought she could still smell _him_.

Matthew started slightly and made a small noise of surprise but bent his head over hers and pressed his lips to her head, his left arm, clothes still in hand, rested at her back. "Thank you" she said, her voice slightly muffled by his chest. "I know you can't make any promises, but thank you for coming back, even if.." she felt a few tears escape and pressed her face back against him.

"Mary" he said, his voice full of emotion, "Of course I came, I--" she felt his arm move and his clothes brushed by her legs as they fell to the ground. He stepped back from her abruptly and crouched on the ground, rummaging through his wet clothes. Matthew stood again before her, a small box in his hand and an indescribable look on his face. He exhaled, "Mary I don't want to make hollow promises but I can promise I'll try my damnedest to come back to you." He swallowed and she noted offhandedly that she had missed a couple buttons at the neck of his shirt.

"Would you" he continued "Would you wait for me?" Mary looked back at him, confused, of course she would wait for him! She was hardly going anywhere.

She said as much and he smiled briefly before dropping to one knee in front of her.

The full weight of what he said finally occurred to Mary and she stood looking down at him, her heart beating wildly. He grinned nervously before struggling slightly to open the box with his left hand. Once he had succeeded he met her eyes again. "Mary Crawley, will you marry me?" he asked, hope and fear mingling in his voice and in his eyes. Mary had imagined being proposed to since she was a little girl, had fancied that some grand gentleman would ride up to her house and she'd rundown the stairs and into his arms and he would sweep her off her feet and away on horseback. As she looked down at him, one arm bandaged, hair damp and sticking up oddly in places she considered marrying the man everyone had hoped she would, Matthew Crawley.Matthew Crawley; the man who she'd scorned, argued with, teased mercilessly, the man who had stolen her inheritance...and also, it seemed, her heart. She thought to herself, _this was even better_.

"Yes" she said, hardly daring to believe he was really asking again, "Yes of course I will!" She helped him back up and held the box so he could slip the ring onto her finger. Mary could feel a ridiculous grin spreading on her face as she looked at the ring then back at Matthew. He was grinning back at her. Slipping the box into his pocket he reached towards her and kissed her firmly on the lips. "Then you have made me the happiest man in the world!" he exclaimed, and she stretched up on her toes to pull him down for another kiss. They broke apart and he laughed, their happiness making them both feel giddy.

Of course, fate would chose that moment for Anna to knock once and pop her head inside the room, "Milady--" she stopped when she took in the scene before her. "I'm sorry to interrupt" she said wryly, "but his Lordship's car has just pulled up in front." Mary smiled, just happy that it hadn't been a few minutes earlier. "Well _Cousin_ Mathew, I would be remiss if I didn't ask you to stay for dinner. Will you join us? I can ring for Isobel too, let her know I didn't lose you out on the grounds today." Matthew chuckled, his cheeks still flushed as he bent to collect his fallen clothes. "I would love to, _Lady_ Mary. Something tells me it's going to be a very interesting dinner indeed." He straightened and impulsively gave her a peck on the cheek as he passed, letting Anna lead him somewhere a little less incriminating. Mary watched from the doorway as he disappeared down the corridor before shutting her door and leaning against it. This was not at all what she had been expecting today! She smiled and looked at the ring before hurrying to the bathroom and hoped Anna would be quick to return, _she really did have to do something about her hair..._

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Downton fic, so I'd love feedback :) or just someone to share in my Matthew obsession


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